Yugi Your Shoe Lace is Untied
by pidgeot
Summary: Funny story about Yugioh and his new gang of freinds.


Up in the hill country north of Heber Springs, a little creek flows swiftly down a narrow valley and plunges into Middle Fork of Little Red River just above Greers Ferry Lake.  
  
Day after day and year after year for the past 225 million years this stream has flowed, rolling and tumbling down the steep, rocky hillsides. Heat from the sun, moisture, frost, wind and the grinding and tearing of the raging torrent in periods of heavy rainfall have caused numerous cliffs and caves to form. Scattered along the valley slopes are many lichen covered rocks that have been torn loose from the cliffs and transplanted down the mountain side.  
  
On a map of Greers Ferry Lake this little Ozark stream has the name "Indian Creek" but to the early settlers of the region it is "Engine Creek", so called because for many years the rusted parts of a steam sawmill engine lay in the valley at the mouth of the creek.  
  
Three miles north of where the branch enters the river is a blue pool of water. This pool sparkles in the bright sun and lays in the shadow of a hill which gives it a deeper blue color than other pot holes along the creek.  
  
For many years the "Blue Hole", as it is called, has been a favorite swimming hole for Ozark Mountain boys who were lucky enough to stumble on such an isolated spot of rare beauty.  
  
This same spot on Engine Creek is also the scene of an even that created great excitement in this region in the early 1870's and became a legend that survives to this day in the minds of grandsons and granddaughters of early settlers who came from the Tennessee hills into this locality before the Civil War.  
  
One day in the early 1870's after the Civil War four miles north of this water hole three men were observed, cursing, kicking and beating two bay horses harnessed to a vehicle called a "hack". The horses would start up the hill then fall back as a wheel stuck between two rocks. One of the horses kicked it's heels into the air and fell back on it's haunches. The horses had simply "balked" as was the custom of horses who are called on to pull a heavy load up a steep hill.  
  
They refused to go a step further. At this time a farmer named Jim Berry who lived along the old Turkey Creek Road south of Mountain View, stopped to help the sweating strangers. He finally hitched two Ozark mules in front of the horses and soon the group was on it's way up the hill. Berry noticed what appeared to be heavy canvas sacks filled with bulky material. He also noted that the men were anxious to get on their way. At frequent intervals they engaged in a low toned conversation wile glancing north as if they expected to see someone following them.  
  
As he went on his way Berry became more suspicious, but since there was work to be done on his Ozark farm, he dismissed the episode from his mind until later that week when the whole situation came into sharper focus.  
  
A few days later he met a neighbor, a man named Hess who lived on a farm in the Richwoods area just south of Mountain View. Hess gave the same report. He had helped the same men over Blue Mountain south of Mountain View.  
  
On down the Mountain View and Middle Settlement road another farmer reported the men pressing the horses fast, frequently looking north as if they were pursued by wild man or animals.  
  
About noon the next day Jim Berry was plowing potatoes in a field behind his barn lot. He heard the clatter of horse hoofs on the stony road. Looking north, he saw perhaps a dozen horses with riders galloping down the road, the noon day sun reflecting on the shiny barrels of their rifles and shot guns.  
  
One of the riders dismounted and started a conversation with Berry. He wanted to know if three men had passed that way during the past 24 hours. Berry answered that he had seen the men. He pointed south where he had seen them going the day before.  
  
The leader, a tall man with a star pinned to his shirt, swung into the saddle and with a wave of his hand toward the south directed the horsemen to head up the steep road toward Middle Settlement. They soon disappeared in a cloud of dust.  
  
From this time on, nobody seemed to know what happened to the three. One report had them turning off at the Berry field 3 1/2 miles north of where Shirley is now located.  
  
When the chasers finally reached the vicinity they found a burned out hack and a few pieces of canvas sacks smoldering at the edge of the road. They followed on down the road to Middle Settlement where questions about the men brought no answers.  
  
A week later a man named Jesse Ship who owned a farm southwest of Engine Creek reported that three strange men came to a dance at this house a few nights before. No body seemed to know them. They stayed a few minutes and then rode away into darkness toward the road that leads to Middle Settlement.  
  
Investigating officers picked up the trail west over the Weaver Creek road to Clinton but soon lost it on the rocky hillsides. The men could have gone toward Batesville on the Batesville Dover road or they may have headed into Oklahoma Territory, which in those days was a haven for wanted men trying to escape the law.  
  
After many days of searching the lawmen gave up the chase. The three disappeared into the maze of timber that lined the roads in those days. A search was made for the money but as far as is known it has never been found. The men had robbed an army payroll train somewhere south of St. Louis. The canvas bags were supposed to contain over one hundred thousand dollars in gold coins.  
  
Time moved on, memories faded, new trees grew where the hack burned. The waters of the little creek kept up a steady stream to the river. Soon nature had covered up all evidence of a buried treasure.  
  
Then in the late 1930's a Cadillac drove up to a service station in Shirley. Out stepped three Indians and two white people. One was a young woman of about 30, the other white was a man perhaps in his late 80's. They started to ask questions. Could anyone direct them to a cave north of Shirley that had a blue hole of water down in a little valley below? Most had heard of a cave but no one seemed to know for sure where it was located. There was a big blue hole of water below the Yellow Bluff Cave, another could be found east of the Berry field and still another was located north of Shirley on the Mountain View Road.   
  
Any of the three could have fitted the description perfectly. The group searched the area for two days. At last they gave up, but not until they had related the following story.  
  
The white man had attended the death bedside of a friend two years before. This friend was nearing his one hundredth birthday. The friend told the old man that he had taken part in a robbery. They fled into the Arkansas Ozarks near Middle Settlement where they burned a hack, stole a wash pot from a widow living in the vicinity of the cave, and buried all the money they could not carry on the horses. They mapped the area with the intention of returning some day to claim the loot. That time had never came. The man was paralyzed in a hunting accident a short time after the escape. Both of the partners died in a bank holdup shortly after this trip. The dying man had given the white man a map. His daughter had listened to this story until she decided it must be true. Her rich Indian friend had agreed to finance the trip.   
  
After staying in a Clinton Motel three nights the group left when it became apparent that the location of the cave could not be found. The old fellow left objecting to the fact that he had not been given enough time to find the cave, the creek and the blue hole of water.  
  
For many years this legend has floated about in the minds of old and young. This fortune, buried somewhere in a large wash pot, has been talked about around a hundred camp fires. Old timers have spend hours around a pot bellied stove in a general store speculating about this treasure they know is located in the vicinity of a cave with a blue hole of water below. They know that it is located somewhere near the Rushing road between the Berry field and the bluff north of the Shirley School.  
  
some looked around and found certain people that seem to be more successful money ways than others. Some people built larger houses, bought banks, and prospered beyond all expectations. Rumors are that they stumbled on this vast fortune and have been enjoying the fruits of it ever since that day.  
  
This story can be seriously doubted. People often mentioned as having gained this sudden flush of wealth are known as hard workers, wise business men and have a strong feeling of love for the almighty dollar.  
  
It is possible that one or more of the three strangers slipped back and got the money, but this seems unlikely in the view of the return of a man with a map showing the location of the buried gold. Also, since misfortune struck the robbers early in the game this precludes the possibility that they ever came back to find it.  
  
There is a strong possibility that the rusty pot with its collection of coins lies hidden under some rock strewn hill and will forever remain .  
  
Just a few weeks ago, David Mattis, a free lance photographer and a correspondent from the Arkansas Sun, Woody Osteen, my step-son, and I stood at the mouth of a small cave located 300 yards above a blue hole of water and looked down on a beautiful sight. We saw below us a deep blue pool of water. Filling it from the north was a little stream of fast water, emptying in to the south was the sparkling waters of Engine Creek. Scattered about we got a full picture of the gray green hills covered with many species of useful forest trees. Several large post oak and white post oak towered above the smaller brush. None appeared to be older than 100 years old. So we could be sure that the stump of such a forest giant would have returned to the dust of the earth long ago. If the pot was out there somewhere it was lost under the leaf mold and brown forest soil among the Lichen covered gray sand rocks.  
  
As I looked out across the narrow valley I forgot about the wash pot of gold. I realized that this has always been a beautiful land. The sky was deep blue. The landscape had always been ever-changing with the he seasons. Fall had brought all colors of the rainbow. Spring and summer brought the tall green grass and the emerald green leaves of a thousand forest trees. This forest had always been filled with many interesting species of wildlife. Deer and squirrels had come to the blue hole to drink. I am sure that in the spring of 1870 all these sights and the melody of a thousand bird notes floated up from this green forest.  
  
As a slight spring breeze gushed down from the rough hills, I realized that the gold that might be burried out there was unimportant. Here in these rugged ridges on this little creek what we had at any one time was all we needed or wanted.  
  
We turned and started up the road that wound its way up and over a hill. We wanted to find the widow Linn's home site where the robbers were supposed to have stolen the wash pot. We soon found the site of an early Ozark Mountain cabin.   
  
Here on the he right side of the Rushing Trail traveling south we caught the surprising sight of a rock chimney still standing in the forest. The clay mud in the joints had long since washed out, and the logs of the cabin decayed to a few fragments of the northwest corner. The foundation rocks were still in place at the four corners of the cabin outline. They measured approximately 18' x 20'. A large gray green rock still spanned the fireplace opening and the smoke shelf still could be seen at the back of the chimney. This must have been a well built chimney. It is a rare treat to see on standing after the wood cabin has become a part of the ever-changing earth.  
  
Near the cabin we found a fairly large hand dug well that appeared to be over forty feet deep. The top part of the well had been lined with rock down to a solid layer that continues on down to the bottom of the well. The rock work reflected the great skill of some well diggers that carried this type of construction back about 1900.  
  
The cabin site was surrounded by a field of second growth cedar, scrub oak, sumac and service bushes. Indications were that this had been a corn field starting about 1910. Outlines of the small fields could be seen by the rocks that had been removed and piled up around the edges. Examination of a recently cut stump along the fence row indicated an age of 66 years. 1976-66 indicates that the fence had been there from about 1910.  
  
We soon determined that this cabin was too young to be the widow Linn's farm house.   
  
Most of the early settlers in the Middle Settlement region had settled the Little Red River Bottoms first about the 1830's. Very few ever settled on high ridges like the one we had found. Also, the earliest settlers build their cabins near a ground level spring.  
  
Another migration to the Ozarks was underway after the Civil War Homestead act was passed. The widow Linn and her deceased her husband were evidently a part of this migration.  
  
By 1912 most of the mountain settlers had given up on making a living on the rough Ozark land and had moved on west to Oklahoma.  
  
In 1908 the MNA Railroad passed through north of Middle Settlement bringing a halt to most of the western migration for over 20 years. The great white oak trees became valuable to the settlers that were about ready to move on west. The sale of stave bolts, cross ties and giant pine tree lumber extended the time for those who had came west to farm.  
  
The chimney cabin site evidently was homesteaded about 1906 and then abandoned in the 1920's when all the timer was cut over. These settlers then had to move on west to Texas and Oklahoma. Then in the 1930's California became the place to go.  
  
These were the things that we talked about as we looked in the old well, counted the tree rings, photographed the rock fireplace and got an interesting view of an isolated region of Arkansas that has changed very little since that day 106 years ago when three strangers carried the widow Linn's wash pot down to the cave on Engine Creek.  
  
On our way back down the mountain to Engine Creek we did find the dim outline of a rock pile that we took to be the remains of that lady's chimney. When we looked around what passage of over 100 years can do to hid man's weak efforts to change the landscape, we felt more strongly than ever that the pot of gold will never be found. When we crossed back over Engine Creek we did feel that this little creek could survive several million more years when at some point in time these hills will be flattened out to sink once more under the seas and another mountain forming cycle will start. Such is the way things happen on this earth which seems so solid and secure but changes every second.  
  
With these thoughts we and the Legend of Engine Creek and the pot of gold.  
  
By: Glen Hackett 


End file.
